


Ripe

by PrincessAutumnArcher



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Knives, Loki is a shameless flirt, Other, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Suggestive Themes, and shameless in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:12:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19062439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessAutumnArcher/pseuds/PrincessAutumnArcher
Summary: The God of Mischief had been raised with blades, learnt to meld them to his body and wield them as naturally as his very breath. It didn't surprise you then, that Loki handled knives both effortlessly and often. It did surprise you, however, how ridiculously attractive he was while he did it.It shouldn't have surprised you that he noticed your lingering glances, or that he decided to do something about it.





	Ripe

Knives were not meant to be such tempting objects.

You knew this. It made total sense for a blade and handle to be put together, and none at all for the combination to arouse such appreciation in you.

Yet you found yourself riveted despite yourself, glance darting back to the _beautiful_ sight of smooth silver blade effortlessly scoring a path through vivid, hyper-saturated yellow.

A gentle but repeated prodding at your side jolted you from your thoughts and you turned towards the disturbance, eyes sliding away from the knife’s graceful path only when the angle of your neck made it impossible to remain there.

You watched blankly as Bruce’s mouth opened and closed, his dark eyes fixed kindly on yours, before you realized with a start that he was speaking to you—and from the concern drawing his brows together, had been for more than a moment.

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, “got lost in my head. What were you saying?”

A low, silky scoff distracted you from Bruce’s tolerant smile; before you could stop yourself, you had already turned towards the sound, lips pursing in indignant reply. You were silenced, however, by the quiet, _absolutely_ unnecessary hum of satisfaction Loki allowed to curl from his lips as he set the blade against the edge of the mango’s skin, one finger bracing over the florid red peel, and angled his wrist. Winking silver disappeared under red and green, only a slight bump under the surface of the skin and the very point of the tip protruding from the far end of the strip of peel betraying the blade’s presence.

Loki’s hand moved smoothly with the knife, his long fingers cradling the fruit gently as he separated a strip of peel from the sweet yellow flesh beneath. Juice trickled from the cut as he severed the peel with a casual flick of his wrist, drops of mango nectar gathering at his fingertips. You suddenly realized that your lips had parted and you closed your mouth, swallowing past a dry tongue to tell him in what you hoped passed as a nonchalant tone, “There’s juice on your fingers.”

His eyes were all mischief, seaglass dancing over a sweet smirk as he replied calmly, voice edging on boredom, “Yes, what a truly miraculous observation. Are you asking to lick it off?”

Your cheeks burned and tearing your gaze away was suddenly easy as Loki’s smirk widened and his knife returned to flay another strip of skin from the fruit. Bruce looked almost sympathetic and you were glad that you caught the tail of his question this time:

“—ou ever get to ask Natasha about whi—”

An airy, drawn-out exhalation of fulfillment interrupted Bruce, deepening during its last seconds into a throaty groan of approval. Bruce’s sympathy looked downright painful with the introduction of discomfort, you noted before your eyes succumbed to temptation and you turned again to Loki and whatever he was doing to that damned fruit.

His eyes were wide and innocent and his voice anything but as he explained to no one in particular, “It all came off in one slice. _So_ smoothly, too—I must confess, feeling it slide off and leave just this beautifully supple flesh is quite a _delicious_ sensation.”

He absolutely purred over the syllables, and when his fingers squeezed ever so gently as he mentioned the _suppleness_ of the mango in his palm, you could barely stop yourself from screaming as rivulets of translucent golden juice coated his skin, dripping from his knuckles.

Bruce was blatantly grimacing now and a muted whisper in the back of your brain reminded you that you had never answered his question, but you were barely concerned with that at the moment; far more entrancing was the sight of the slick mango-flesh in Loki’s hand as he sliced neatly down its meridian and divided each half into glistening chunks. The juicy, solid _plop_ of each piece as it fell to a waiting bowl echoed in your ears far longer than it should have, and you found it within yourself to wonder for a fleeting moment if Loki’s seiðr had played any part in your enchantment.

His hands, however, remained untouched by green light, and the only scent in the air was a heady, rich sweetness from the mango as he partitioned it with deft slices. You were left to the conclusion that no magic was driving you to stare hungrily at the tantalizing sight of Loki’s pale fingers wrapped around blackened metal, the handle of the knife resting docile in his palm as he wielded its blade effortlessly. Whether this was more consolation or cause for alarm remained an unanswered question.

The last of the mango flesh tumbled into the bowl, and the resulting pang of disappointment that wracked your stomach startled you. Without raising his head, Loki remarked lightly, as if informing you of nothing more than the weather or what he planned to wear the next day, “My hand is entirely covered in juice, as you astutely pointed out earlier, and as such my offer still stands. I’m fairly certain it’d be a better use of your tongue than simply lolling out of your mouth as you stare at me.”

You closed your mouth with a snap, reassuring yourself that your tongue had been firmly behind your lips anyway, but took a moment to run the muscle over your teeth before replying in as haughty of a tone as you could muster, “Give me the pit.”

Loki arched an eyebrow and languidly lifted his gaze to pin yours, idly scraping the blade over the contours of the fibrous pit as he did. You had never seen such grace.

“You’d rather suckle on scraps than the fingers of a god?”

Your mouth gaped open again as you struggled to cobble together a retort, but Loki handed the requested object over before you could, rolling his eyes as an amused smirk curled his lip. You raised the seed to your mouth and scraped the remaining flesh with your teeth; despite his jibe, Loki had been generous, leaving intact a wealth of tangy juice and ripe flesh to burst brightly on your tongue. A benevolent god, indeed.

Loki raised his hand to his face, eyes narrowing dangerously. You watched, enraptured despite your efforts, as his tongue extended and flattened against his palm. He dragged the muscle slowly over his skin before his lips closed around two wet fingers and traveled up while juice ran down his wrist.

You would have bit down on your tongue had the pit not already been conveniently between your teeth.

His eyes had drifted closed at some point between knuckle and fingertip, and when his gaze fell upon you again it was filled with a wicked, gleeful pleasure. “Sweet,” he breathed, and it seemed to you that the scent of mango mingled with mint reached you from across the counter as your jaw clenched down painfully over the pit.

His half-cleaned hand grasped the knife and he moved to the sink, spinning the handle a few times before flicking the faucet and dipping the blade into the resulting rush of water. The scent of dish soap helped clear your head enough to realize that Bruce had long vanished from his seat and taken his glass with him.

The smile playing over Loki’s lips was utterly distracting, you decided, as you watched him finish rinsing the knife and dry it with two short, quick strokes over a dish towel. Slowly, as if in the hope that the lack of speed would grant you invisibility, you removed the pit from your mouth and immediately wrapped it in a napkin, praying that Loki hadn’t seen the very visible teeth marks imprinted in the fiber.

The bowl of fruit clinked pleasantly against Tony’s marble countertop as Loki placed it next to you and leaned over, smiling serenely as if he couldn’t sense the frantic tempo of your heart. He popped a piece of mango into his mouth with far more blasé sophistication than had to be fair— _where did that tiny fruit fork come from?_ —and chewed slowly, his eyes gleaming. His swallow seemed to last an infinity, and it was only when a soft, rich chuckle rose from his throat that you realized your eyes had dropped from his gaze to his lips to the bobbing of his Adam’s apple.

His face was so very close to yours when he whispered, “There’ll be a relish with dinner tonight. You need to eat more fruits.”

You nodded distractedly, too focused on how you could feel a slight chill emanating from his skin and how from this close, the frosty sea trapped in his eyes glinted just a tiny bit gold to notice a piece of mango pressing against your half-parted lips until you opened them instinctively and it slipped in, landing on your tongue in a bright burst of sweet.

A ghost of mint followed as Loki’s lips pressed against yours for a single searing moment, his eyes closing briefly before he pulled back, looking altogether _too_ smugly satisfied with himself.

“Don’t forget to chew before you swallow,” he told you, laughter filling his voice as he turned and left, calling just before a flash of green light spilled at the doorway, “I’d hate for you to choke!”

**Author's Note:**

> In conclusion, blades are really pretty, especially when pretty people know what they're doing with said blades. Also, it's mango season where I live and boy do I live for mangoes. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed!


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